a warning to death-haunted women


“Mother Goose”
by Stan Rice

If you are death haunted
never drink beer, my
dear, or you might drown
in your unshed tears.
I take my tone
from Mother Goose,
who was a sot, and look
what it got her: shoes
full of children, talking
foxes, crooked men,
fornicating spoons and dishes,
most of chaos, compulsively
rhyming. Everything
had so much meaning
naturally she was death-haunted.
all she wanted was to
stop dreaming, but that being
an empty wish, she kept on drinking.
At least it made her woes delicious.
When the beer cans reached her ceiling
They started bleeding, of course.
more chaos, more meaning.
she was as fecund as fear
and beer was her semen. So
if you are death-haunted too,
don’t drink beer, dear, or like
Mother Goose you might forget
How to cry out ” Enough!”, go berserk,
sleep with your sons as soon as they’re born
And slip down and break your hip in the afterbirth.

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